


Damn You Auto Correct!

by Chiyume



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel Mojo, Angel Powers, Auto Correct, Betting, Bottom Dean, Bottom Dean Winchester, Cell Phones, Challenge Response, Dare, Dirty Talk, Dom Castiel, Gay Chicken, Light Dom/sub, M/M, NSFW, No voice, Sexting, Sick Dean, Sub Dean, Sub Dean Winchester, Table Sex, Texting, Top Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Wall Sex, dean/cas - Freeform, motel sex, voiceless Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 04:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5771296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiyume/pseuds/Chiyume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sore throat is never a fun thing, and being unable to talk is even worse; especially if your name is Dean Winchester.<br/>Left behind at the motel to recover while Sam takes care of their case, Dean is soon hit by utter lethargy, and since he can't speak to save his life, he resorts to texting in order to ease his restlessness.<br/>Castiel is of course happy to oblige, and things appear to be going smoothly until auto correct decides to put its sticky fingers all over their conversation...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damn You Auto Correct!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Buckysaur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckysaur/gifts).



 

 

* * *

 

 

Dean did not like texting.

When you texted someone it always took the conversation way longer to get to the point than it did by calling someone up. You couldn’t text and drive at the same time (well, technically you could, but it wasn‘t exactly safe) and it was also pretty damn useless if you needed something done quickly.

The main reason for Dean’s obstinate disapproval of texting, however, could be narrowed down to one, single component: Autocorrect.

Texting in itself would have been a hundred time faster and easier if that godforsaken utility program had never been invented. Most of the time it only served to screw things up and made them harder to understand than they would have, if the texts only contained ordinary, _human_ spelling errors. With autocorrect, conversations had a tendency to go from crystal clear to turbulently confusing in just a split second.

So, Dean tried his best to avoid texting as much as possible. Unfortunately, however. things didn’t always work the way he wanted them to, and fate had a way of making sure he never forgot about it.

Today, for example, Dean Winchester was not able to make any phone calls.

Today, if Dean Winchester wanted to communicate with someone, he _had_ to text, because today, Dean Winchester was sick.

He didn’t have a headache, nor did he have a fever. He wasn’t nauseous or physically exhausted, and so far he hadn’t even felt the need to sleep. So far, all he had experienced from the moment he woke up was a horrible, excruciatingly sore throat and a complete and utter lack of anything that even resembled a voice.

Dean didn’t get sick often and his health freak of a brother sure as hell didn’t succumb to any biological weaknesses more than he absolutely had to. That was actually the main reason as to why Sam was currently two and a half states away on a hunt by himself, while Dean had stayed behind at the motel all lone, awaiting the moment when he’d be able to use his voice again.

Sam had left him with clear instructions on what to drink (tea, not alcohol), what to eat (vegetables, Dean!), and also how much he should rest (no bar hopping, do you hear me?). So far Dean had done his best to follow them. Except the tea because… well, it was _tea_.

Only thing was, he was getting restless. To tell the truth, he was bored right down to the bone and he had just about had it with absolutely everything concerning this stupid motel room with its stupid TV shows and its stupid minibar, which he had basically emptied by now to compensate for his lack of pub crawling. His skin was itching and he wanted something to _do_. He had already oiled and polished his gun and the remaining weapons that Sam had left behind squeaky clean, washed and cleaned out the Impala, and he had even — God help him — stooped as low as to doing his laundry in the motel laundromat.

As of now he was lying on top of the large motel bed, zapping his way through the channels on the TV in an attempt to find something — anything —  that would help him clear the constant, everflowing state of staleness.

He threw a look towards his phone which was lying on top of the nightstand, dark and quiet. He had tried texting Sammy for news almost a full hour ago, trying to strike up a conversation, but had only received short, down-to-earth responses, and now the messages had completely stopped. He shouldn’t be surprised really; it was already past midnight and Sam had probably gone to sleep a few hours back in order to get properly rested before his ridiculous morning run. Sam was coming back tomorrow, having solved the case quicker than he had thought; at least that was something, but tomorrow felt ages away and it didn’t exactly help Dean cure his acute lack of productivity.

Against better judgement he snatched his phone off the table, checking for new messages once again, sighing with frustration when he found none. He was just about to put the phone away when his eyes fell on the second name in the conversation list and he halted himself.

The text was more than two weeks old and contained a single sentence.

[Okay, good job.]

Dean had sent it when he and Sam were on a hunt and Castiel had texted him about a vital clue that had actually led to them solving the entire case. Looking at the text now, he felt a pang of guilt go off inside his chest. He hadn’t actually called Cas back to let him know the information had been useful — Sam had been the one to do that, and Dean hadn’t really felt the need to tell the angel the same thing twice. Which lead to the fact that Dean had not spoken to, or even heard from Castiel in over fourteen days’ time.

He thumbed the touchpad lightly, mulling over his options, and then tapped the conversation and started typing.

[Hey. How you doing?]

He paused. Starting conversations just for the sake of conversation wasn’t really his thing. Should he write something else? For some reason he felt as if he should be apologising for not getting in touch sooner, but a part of him also didn’t want to admit that it was his fault that contact had been a bit scarce lately. What, as if Cas couldn’t pick up the phone every once in awhile?

He sent the text with just those four words, tossed the phone down onto the bed next to him and returned to the TV once more. He had barely watched it for half a minute when his phone buzzed, screen lighting up, and when he took it he saw a single word glowing up at him from the screen.

[Well.]

Dean looked at his screen, blinking slowly.

Well, to be fair he hadn’t exactly asked for an elaborate answer.

[You busy?]

He let the message send and soon the reply came buzzing back, perhaps even faster than the first reply had.

[No.]

Dean rolled his eyes to the ceiling, deciding to stop beating around the bush.

[You wanna come over and hang? I’m bored and lonely. Sam’s out of town.]

Alright so maybe ‘lonely’ was a bit exaggerated, but it wasn’t entirely untrue either. Even if Cas only came around to stare perplexedly at the television it would still be company, which sure as hell beat being alone.

He threw the phone aside again, awaiting the whooshing sound of celestial wings and a trench coat to fill the room. The TV kept babbling on and Dean waited. And waited.

When his phone finally lit up, he had almost begun to worry, but when he read the message his worry quickly shifted into annoyance.

[I’m not sure if I’m the one you should be asking about that, Dean.]

He frowned at the phone.

[C’mon, why not? I thought we were friends, dude.]

This time he kept the phone in his hand while he waited. Time seemed to stretch on and he impatiently wagged his foot and kept sending glances at the cell phone’s screen even though he knew that once Cas answered he would be able to feel the vibrations of the device in his hand.

The phone eventually buzzed and Dean read the response.

[You’d really want to do that? With me?]

Dean didn’t get it. What was so bad about coming over to watch TV?

[Yes! Dude, I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t.]

He shook his head and blew out a huff through his nose, looking at the conversation, but then his heart suddenly froze inside his chest as he stared at the phone in his hand.

His fucking phone had changed the words. Instead of ‘hang’ and ‘lonely’ the goddamn device had decided to type out ‘ _bang_ ’ and ‘ _horny’_ instead.

[You wanna come over and bang? I’m bored and horny. Sam’s out of town.]

He read the text again and again and then a third time over, while the realization of _what_ _exactly_ he had sent to an Angel of the Lord slowly began to sink in.

_Oh, no…_

Desperately, he began to type, thumbs sliding over the keys so fast they became a blur.

[Shit sorry dude I meant to ask if you wanted to hang because I was feeling lonely. Not that other stuff. Fucking autocorrect man.]

He pressed send, feeling his stomach knot up when the little popup that announced ‘message sent’ appeared on the screen afterwards. Shit, he hoped Cas wouldn’t think he was a complete idiot.

He was reading Cas’ answer before the phone had stopped buzzing.

[Oh. Okay…]

Dean scowled. Those three little dots at the end of the sentence bugged him, and — still scowling — he typed a reply.

[What, did I disappoint you now?]

He waited.

The phone buzzed.

[Would it matter?]

Something stirred in Dean’s stomach. A tiny, tiny shift of emotions that felt somewhat akin to both guilt and anxiety at the same time. He licked his lips.

[I don’t know. Would it?]

Again, he waited and again, his phone buzzed.

[That’s up to you, Dean.]

Dean let out a little disbelieving chuckle. What the hell was this?

[So you’re saying you wouldn’t mind? That’s a bit gay, dude.]

[If you say so. And no, I wouldn’t.]

That same feeling from before made Dean’s stomach flip. This time when he licked his lips, he found that they had suddenly gone very dry.

His thumb hovered over the phone’s keyboard. What was he supposed to respond to something like that? Was Cas messing with him? It seemed unlikely that the other would suddenly have gained such a liberal sense of humour, even more so that he’d express it like this. But then, if Castiel actually was serious, that meant… He shook the thought away. No, no, this was a joke. It had to be — and Dean was going to prove it.

[Alright, so let’s say that the offer still stands. If you were here right now, what would we be doing?]

He sent the message, feeling confident that Castiel wouldn’t answer. The joke would be revealed and Dean would laugh at the angel’s failed attempt to fool him.

Minutes passed and Dean began feeling increasingly smug the longer time stretched on.

_Called it._

His phone buzzed and Dean read Castiel’s message. Just like that the entire world seemed to pivot on its axis as he jack-knifed up into a sitting position, staring at the phone in his hand.

[Seeing as it’s already been almost twenty minutes since you asked me to come over, I’d say that I’d have you on the bed or bent over the dining table right about now.]

Dean tried to swallow, feeling his already sore and now also dry throat protest against the failed attempt.

He threw a quick glance towards the table placed in the motel room’s kitchen area to his left, and felt his stomach flip when the image of himself sprawled out on top of said table with Castiel’s hands gripping him around the waist came fleeting into his brain.

Alright, so Cas was apparently a lot more free spoken than he had thought…

[Yeah right.] He paused his writing. [As if I’d let you top. You’ve had sex like what, one time, and now you think you’re more experienced than me? If anyone is going to bottom it’s you.]

He hesitated for a moment, but then reminded himself that this was all in order to expose Castiel’s bad sense of humour, and sent the message. As if Cas — an Angel of the Lord — would ever consider doing anything even remotely sexual with him? Or anyone else for that matter. Did angels even know how to have sex? Of course, if they had been watching mankind for over two millennia, then they were bound to have picked up at least something. Suddenly the sight of Castiel, standing next to Dean’s bed, watching him as he jerked himself off, appeared inside his head and he stiffened. That thought really shouldn’t be having the kind of positive effect on his body that it apparently had.

He flinched in spite of himself when his phone whirred with Castiel’s next response.

[You ARE aware of the fact that I can technically make you orgasm simply by tilting my head in your general direction?]

Dean promptly dropped his phone, but immediately picked it up again while pretending that the undignified squawk that had escaped him at that sentence had never occurred.

[You still don’t know how to even flirt right, man.] In spite of being half in shock, he was actually starting to feel offended here. Did Cas really think Dean would be that easy to take down?

[You probably wouldn’t even be able to get me hard without using some weird angel mumbo-jumbo on me first.]

Twenty seconds passed.

[Is that a challenge?]

Dean stared at the phone, mouth hanging open in disbelief. He knew that somehow he had already passed the line of a joke; that this was heading in a completely different direction than what he had first planned. The conversation had taken on a darker tone; something dangerous and primal that called on an equally primal source somewhere deep inside Dean’s gut, and he knew that he should probably be freaking out right about now. Strangely enough, he also found that he didn’t really care.

[You bet your feathery ass it is.] He gnawed on the inside of his lip, then typed out the rest of the message before he had the chance to change his mind.

[In fact, if you manage to give me as much as a chubby I’ll even let you top. So c’mon, angel boy — sext me. Prove me wrong.]

He threw the phone down onto the bed and crossed his arms over his chest. That line would surely shut the angel up. There was no way that Cas would be able to compose anything that could even resemble sexting, if he even knew what sexting was. Most likely it would be awkwardly worded with references all jumbled up and misspelled, and Dean would probably die from laughing too hard. He almost managed to convince himself that the stir he felt in the pit of his stomach was from the success of his victory and nothing else. Absolutely nothing like expectation, or — God forbid — excitement. He was so busy congratulating himself on his impending win that he almost failed to notice when the screen on his phone lit up again.

[Tell me what you’re wearing.]

The only thing that kept Dean from laughing out loud was the fact that his throat wouldn’t let him produce any sound over that of a wheeze. Such a cliché start, he almost felt sorry for the guy.

[T-shirt, sweatpants and boxers. No socks. No need to ask you the same. Still in that dusty old suit and trench coat, huh?]

[What I’m wearing is irrelevant.] Dean almost rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Such a snappish attitude.

[C’mon, Cas. You’re not going to warm me up like that.]

Castiel’s next response turned out to be an image, depicting Castiel’s trench coat and suit jacket, lying in a heap in what looked like the front seat of Castiel’s old Lincoln Continental. The picture had the caption [Better?] attached to it. If Dean hadn’t known better he would have said that the word looked sarcastic.

[I’m still wearing less clothing that you.] He texted back, making sure to make the words sound as unimpressed as possible. [You’re going to have to try harder than that.]

Castiel’s text took a few minutes, but when it came it contained a new picture that actually made Dean’s eyebrows arch.

Castiel had taken a picture of his upper body. The white dress shirt was still on, but the angel’s tie was missing. Dean also noticed with a slight gulp, that the top three buttons of the shirt were open.

He snorted out a strained laugh, licking his lips again. Oh, so that’s how this was going to go down? Alright, two could play that game.

Dean didn’t usually take selfies, and admittedly he felt a bit silly when he turned the camera on himself, snapping a picture down the length of his body. The photo came out pretty good, though, as if it Dean wanted to show Castiel what he himself was seeing at the moment, so he sent the photo.

[An improvement.] He captioned. [But the TV’s still showing me more action than you.]

Castiel’s next picture made Dean’s heart do a violent _thudder-thud_ inside his chest and he vigilantly suppressed the tight clench of his abdomen that it caused.

Castiel’s shirt was fully unbuttoned now, the lapels gently brushed aside to expose the smooth planes of his chest. Dean could see the edge of the other’s warding tattoo peek out from beneath the silky white fabric falling down the angel’s left rib, and again he barely managed to keep himself from shuddering.

His fingers suddenly felt ice cold.

He almost put the phone down then, because this was getting dangerous. He didn’t know how, but all he knew was that if he continued this, it would take him down a path that he wasn’t really sure if he was ready to go. Sure, it wasn’t as if the idea had never crossed his mind before, — with the way Castiel looked at him sometimes, and the way Sam always did the thing with his face when he noticed Dean looking back — but it wasn’t as if it was something Dean had ever thought would really happen.

Jesus, what the hell was he doing? He dragged a cool hand down the front of his face, realizing that his cheeks were practically burning. A split second later he also noticed that his hand was trembling.

Fuck.

He swiped with his thumb across the screen, making it light up, and looked at the picture again. Castiel’s skin was tan, almost too tan for a guy who spent every single day wearing several layers of clothing. The smooth skin pulled taut over muscles and ribs, standing out clearly in the dim light falling in through the car’s window and Dean caught himself wondering how he could have missed the fact that Cas was so _muscular_.

Where was he anyway? Had Cas just pulled over by the road when Dean texted him? The light indicated that there were street lights nearby, but socially awkward angel or not, even Castiel knew that one didn’t just strip down while sitting in the middle of some parking lot, risking to be seen by anyone who happened by.

[Where are you?] he wrote. [What if someone sees you?]

[No one will see me.]

[Are you sure?]

[I’m alone. Like you.]

Dean felt a pang of excitement go of inside him at that; somehow the word ‘alone’ looking far more suggestive than it should be able to. He was still gnawing on his lower lip, thinking about what to answer, when another message popped up on the screen.

[You owe me a picture, Dean.]

[Maybe I don’t want to send you more pictures.] He wrote back.

[Are you giving up?]

[No.]

He glanced at the phone. This was no joke. He was actually sexting — full on, strip tease, photo shoot sexting — with a goddamn angel. And said angel was sexting him back. An _angel_ was currently more deviously inclined than Dean Winchester and didn’t _that_ strike a chord, ladies and gentlemen?

Clenching his jaw, Dean sat up on the bed, resolutely pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside.

No goddamn cherub would be able to say that they beat Dean in the art of seduction, or so help him.

He adjusted himself against the backboard of the bed and ran his fingers through his hair, making sure that it looked appropriately dishevelled before he snapped the picture. It came out better than he thought, and he was pleased to see that the light from the TV had managed to give his own abs a bit of an extra edge to them.

 _Take this you smug bastard_ , he thought as he sent the picture.

Castiel responded with a picture almost like the one he had sent before, only now the angel’s hand was splayed out over his stomach, looking as if it was trailing downwards. Down towards the suggestive jut of Castiel’s hips.

Dean pulled in a sharp breath through his nose as he felt the unmistakable twitch of flesh against the seam of his sweatpants.

_Fuck._

He felt drunk. His head was swimming and he could sense something akin to fever race through his veins as he stared at the picture. He could match this. Of course he could. He glanced down his body and his pulse began to quicken considerably when he pointed his own camera down. Hesitantly, as if he wasn’t really sure if he should, he then pulled at the hems of his sweatpants and boxers, just enough to reveal a peek of the dark hairs on his pelvis. It felt kinky, and while one part of him still argued against the whole thing, another, more insistent part was cheering him on. He took the picture.

He waited anxiously, and when his phone finally buzzed, his stomach was almost aching from anticipation. He had barely had time to register the content of Castiel’s photo before he sharply turned the phone away, his grip around the plastic surface tightening to the point where the brittle device should have begun to crack between his fingers.

When he finally turned the phone back around, he dragged in a slow, shaky breath before breathing it out again, just the same.

The photo was poorly lit, just like the others, but Dean could still see every detail with close to painful clarity.

It was like staring at a train crash; Dean knew that he shouldn’t be doing it, but he couldn’t make himself look away. Castiel had opened his belt, unzipped the fly of his slacks and eased them down to hang loose on his hips along with his underwear. The picture showed how he was still holding on to the garments while canting his hips upward, revealing the faint shade of a happy trail of hair that led from the navel and down to where the angel’s erect member stood, proud and upright in the picture’s centre.

[You’re going to have to undress a bit more than that, Dean.]

Dean didn’t know what to do. He was hard inside his pants, and by now his entire body was trembling as the lightest of shivers ran up and down his spine, without ever seeming to stop.

He shouldn’t be hard from this; knew that looking at a picture of his best friend’s dick shouldn’t possibly be making him feel the way he currently was, but he couldn’t stop. Just thinking about Castiel sitting inside that stupid, obnoxious car of his, with his hands wrapped around a hard-on that Dean helped create, made his head swirl with unabashed arousal.

His phone buzzed and he hesitated before reading the message. Was there even something the angel could have sent him that would rival the picture he was currently looking at? His throat let out a pained whimper as he clutched around the covers of the bed with his free hand, his eyes following the text on the screen, because apparently: yes there was.

[I want to strip you naked, Dean. I want to throw you down onto the bed and push inside you until I fill you up to the very core of your being. I want to fuck you, slowly, until you’re begging me to move faster, until you leave red scratches all over my back and the sheets are soaked with the result of your climax. I want to make love to you until the very thought of me stopping fills you with such aversion that you won’t know what to do with yourself. I want to make you come undone beneath my fingertips and then I want to do it all again, until you’re not able to keep your orgasms apart anymore. All of this I want to do to you, Dean and I’m not sure if I can hold myself back much longer. Do you still want me to come over?]

Dean’s lungs stopped working. He couldn’t breathe, they were curled so tight inside his chest. Jesus fucking—

His heart nearly stopped dead inside his chest when there was a sudden knock on the door to his motel room.

He stared at it, anticipation clawing on the insides of his body like a wild animal trying to break loose. Somehow, he managed to get off the bed, yet it took him half an eternity to take the few inconceivably slow steps forward and place his hand on the door handle.

He breathed in deeply and opened the door.

Castiel’s shirt was still undone, hanging open by his sides. His slacks were buttoned again, but the belt was nowhere to be seen. Dean couldn’t believe that this was happening.

Castiel looked at him, bare chest rising slowly along with his breathing. His eyes were dark. Dangerous. Any sensible person would have thought twice about letting someone with eyes like that pass their doorstep.

Dean opened up the door fully and took a slow step back, giving Castiel his unspoken invitation. The angel stepped inside, closing the door behind him without ever taking his eyes off Dean’s. They said nothing and Dean realized that he was still holding onto the phone in a brutal grip of his hand when Castiel’s gaze dipped down to look at it momentarily before coming back up again.

Dean swallowed with difficulty and Castiel’s head tilted slightly to the left in response. Dean watched the other step forward tentatively, moving towards him, and he forced himself to stay put. His heart was beating so hard he expected to see it bulging out through his ribcage when Castiel finally came to a halt right in front of him. Dean was the taller one, but at the moment he might as well have been less than a hand’s breadth high, because Cas was towering in front of him, eyes blown dark and hungry.

When the kiss came, Dean dropped his phone. He didn’t care. His hands scrambled up and latched onto the back of Castiel’s shirt at the same time as his mouth opened up in a breathless gasp against the angel’s lips. He heard Cas moan back and his insides sparked to life, filling him with that delirious feeling of spinning right out of his body while they stumbled backwards.

Castiel’s hands gripped around Dean’s hips, his fingers pushing momentarily through the fabric that separated them before one of them twisted around and silently slipped inside Dean’s sweatpants, making Dean choke out a moan when the fingers wrapped around him firmly.

Castiel’s kisses moved, his tongue lavishing the side of Dean’s neck and further down to his collarbone. Dean couldn’t do much but hold on. His knuckles cracked as his grip around Castiel’s shirt hardened even further when Castiel started stroking him; fingers moving skilfully up and down his shaft until Dean found himself helplessly bucking into the heat of their touch.

His eyes fluttered shut and he let out a strained wheeze, feeling Castiel’s eyes settle on him when the pain of his throat made him grimace. Then, without a word, the angel reached out and pressed his index finger against Dean’s neck and the pain vanished. Dean sucked in a startled breath and tried to say something, but found that his voice was still as useless as before. He didn’t have time to express his thoughts on the angel’s selective healing choice before Castiel was kissing him again, and Dean concluded that he could live without a voice for as long as Castiel wanted him to, if it meant that kissing continued to feel like _that_.

It didn’t take Dean long to realise that Cas seemed to know _exactly_ what he was doing. The angel’s free hand roamed up and down his chest, only stopping to squeeze around the sharp jut of a hip bone or smooth bend of a shoulder. The hand inside Dean’s pants continued to move, making Dean’s body shake to the point that he no longer dared to trust his legs enough to hold him up. He leaned in on Castiel further, clutching desperately around the other’s shoulders and panting hot, breathy little noises against Cas’ bared chest, hips twitching from the stimulus of the other’s calloused hands.

Then suddenly Castiel steered him around and Dean felt the back of his thighs bump into the kitchen table just before Castiel reached down and raised his leg up, basically seating him upon the wooden surface.

“Bed or table?”

Dean let out a groan at the sound of Castiel’s raw voice. It was hot and growling against the seam of his lips and Dean’s hips jerked out of sheer instinct in response. He peered his eyes open and glanced at the bed on the other side of the room before shifting his gaze back to lock onto Castiel’s.

“Screw the bed,” he hissed, the sound barely capable of making it past his lips, but somehow sounding loud enough to cause Castiel’s nostrils to flare and his pupils to dilate even further in response.

Then suddenly there was only air where Castiel had been, making Dean drop down onto the floor with a startled gasp. He watched in confusion how the angel resolutely walked straight across the room and over to Dean’s backpack, where he proceeded to rummage through the content. It lasted for only a moment, before he re-emerged from the bag with the bottle of lube that Dean had made absolutely _sure_ was a complete secret to anyone except himself, clutched in his hands.

Dean opened his mouth to wheeze out the question of how the hell Cas had known that the lube was there, but decided that it didn’t really matter, because Castiel was already coming back, popping the lid with eyes firmly locked on Dean’s face. Dean felt a violent _zing_ travel down his spine and settle in his groin when he met the look head on.

_Eyes on the prize._

Dean stiffened slightly when Castiel’s hand grasped around his shoulder and firmly turned him around to face the table. He eased up just as quickly, though, when he realised that the hand urging him down to bend forward was soft against his skin, thumb rubbing soothing circles against his back before moving down to let his pants and boxers pool around his ankles with a gentle tug.

The lube was cold and Dean couldn’t help but flinch when he felt Castiel’s first finger slot up against his centre. The discomfort quickly morphed into a molten heat, however, when the digit continued to push further inside and he felt Castiel’s other hand shoot down to grip around his hip tightly.

“You’ve done this before,” Castiel said. His voice was unreadable. Dean nodded, hanging his head down between his shoulders, jaw slack as he braced himself on his elbows when the press of the finger pushed in even further.

“With someone else?”

There was a sharp tone of steel in the angel’s voice, fingers digging into the side of Dean’s hip possessively and Dean only managed a quick shake of his head before he felt hot breath against his ear.

“By yourself.”

Dean nodded, even though he hadn’t technically been asked, a whimper of something that definitely wasn’t pain falling from his lips when a second finger began pushing into him as well.

Castiel was silent as he worked him open and perhaps that’s what made it all so intense. Admittedly, Dean shouldn’t have been capable to produce much sound either, but the ones he could seemed to fill up the room with close to obscene clarity.

He slumped down onto the table top with an exhausted moan when Castiel pushed a third finger inside him. His own fingers were curling against the wooden surface and his entire body shook, hips unable to stay still. Breathy, heady little noises kept escaping him and his pulse was pounding so hard he could feel it move like tremors through his limbs and still Castiel was _silent_.

He reached back, finding the hand that still curled around his hip and pulling at it, trying to convey some sort of urgency, gasping loudly when the hand suddenly flashed up to tangle in his hair, yanking his head back.

“You read my last text, didn’t you?”

Dean nodded, or at least as much as he could with the angel’s hold still in his hair.

“Do you still want it?”

Dean gritted his teeth and pushed his hips back pointedly with a low growl. Castiel knew that he didn’t have a voice, so what was with all the sudden questions? The angel apparently got the hint anyway, because then there was a fluttering sensation of lips trailing up the hunter’s shoulder and Dean felt a soft tremor wreck his frame when he heard Castiel breathe out a pleased _“Good,”_ against his neck.

Both of Castiel’s hands left Dean’s body at once, and for a moment Dean felt shivering cold and exposed where he stood, legs spread apart with cool air where the heat of Castiel’s body had been only seconds ago. He turned his head and saw Castiel reach down and unzip his slacks with now completely clean and lube-free fingers, and his breath stuttered in his throat as he quickly refocused his gaze on the table top, bracing himself.

He inhaled sharply when Castiel’s hand returned to steady itself against his lower back and he closed his eyes. He could imagine the way Castiel was standing behind him, his other hand wrapped around the base of his dick as he steered it right. Those dark, hooded eyes watching intently, with precision and that unworldly focus he used for Dean only.

When the first push came, Dean felt the tendons in his neck tense and, suddenly, breathing was the most difficult thing he had done in his entire life. He heard Castiel’s breath hitch from behind his back and that little sound made his lungs tie into knots inside his chest.

Castiel sunk into him slowly, controlled and steady while he used the hand not currently latched around Dean’s waist to rub soothingly up and down his back. Dean, on the other hand, was not calm. His insides felt as if they were shaking apart; every nerve ending in his body twitching and trembling as the slow slide of Castiel’s cock filled him up. When Dean finally felt the warm press of the angel’s thighs slot up against his backside, he was sure he wouldn’t have been able to keep himself upright had Castiel not already been holding him.

Then, Castiel started moving, and even though Dean didn’t have a voice he still couldn’t hold back the strangled moan that erupted from his throat. It felt as if a million chills were coursing up and down his spine, over and over, sending sharp shrills of ice and lightning to burst behind his eyelids. He tried to cry out, but all that came was a whimper as his fingernails scratched across the table.

The pace was still steady, still slow and controlled, but _fuck_ , it was dirty. He could hear the sound of Castiel's breathing behind him; low grunts and exhales that sent Dean’s heart aflutter, driving a vicious thrumming to reverberate through his limbs.

“Cas…” he whispered, “Ca–Cas…!”

It was a miracle that the angel even heard him, but as the raspy breath of Castiel’s name left Dean’s mouth in a weak stutter, he slowed, not completely, but just enough to give Dean some of his composure back. Dean twisted his upper body, looking over his shoulder and up at Castiel who looked right back at him, hips still thrusting, muscles flexing slowly beneath tan skin. Dean’s voice was suddenly gone all over again.

He swallowed, opening his mouth without really knowing what he would say, had he even had a way to say it. As if he had been waiting for it, Castiel snapped his hips forward, making Dean’s mouth go slack as he choked out a strangled wheeze, fingers grappling for Castiel’s forearm in search for something to hold on to. He tried to glare, but his eyes fluttered shut when Castiel picked up pace again. Before Dean had a chance to react to it, Castiel had grabbed hold of his right leg and, using it as leverage, he started thrusting in harder, deeper, faster. Moving with a seemingly new sense of determination than before, Castiel sent Dean another, evaluating look, and there was a darkness swirling in his eyes that surely would have been capable of eating Dean alive.

With a hoarse yelp, Dean suddenly dropped back down, cheek almost smacking against the wooden surface of the table when Castiel yanked him even closer, dragging him backwards over the tabletop and causing the tablecloth and the little vase upon it to tumble to the floor in the process. Using his already-there grip on Dean's leg along with a new, hard grip around Dean's shoulder, the angel jostled him around to lie on his back in one, single tug; as easily as a child manouvered a toy. Dean’s arms flailed to the side, trying to find some sort of leverage in his new position, but he was given none. Instead all he could do was lie there, feeling the muscles in his abs, thighs and legs tremor as Castiel began pounding into him. The angel’s mouth opened to let the more strenuous breaths out; low, primal sounds of exertion, almost growled out between slightly gritted teeth.

Dean was sweating, a cold sweat that made his skin prickle when Castiel’s gaze swept over him, drinking him up and taking him in where he lay, exposed and naked with his dick straining towards his stomach. He was so hard he ached; every wicked slide of Castiel inside him launching him higher and higher with each thrust, only to pull him back down again just as fast. The pace forced him to continuously ride the crest of the wave, just to have it break beneath him the very moment he felt himself get close to the edge. It was driving him _insane_.

He was aware of the fact that he had begun to whine; a keening sound that came from all the way deep down his chest, but he couldn’t stop it. Had he been able to, he would have yelled. He would have moaned and cried out Castiel’s name over and over until there was no air left inside his lungs, but he couldn’t. The frustration was maddening and he squirmed, pulling at his own hair, biting his lips, tossing his head from side to side in sheer attempts to battle the desperation burning inside him. Cas was still pounding into him, but something was missing; Dean needed him deeper, needed him closer, needed _more_. He reached down, attempting to stroke himself, but he didn’t even get to slide the tip of his fingers against the hard flesh before Castiel caught hold of his wrist and wrenched his hand away with a snarl that made Dean’s leg drop abruptly from the angel’s shoulder.

Dean swallowed down another silent groan when Castiel’s eyes locked onto his and something seemed to spark in the air between them; an unspoken, primal flash of possessiveness and something more, something even bigger. Then, Castiel suddenly pulled at the wrist still caught in his grip, tugging Dean up into a sitting position at the same time as he reached down and wrapped Dean’s dangling legs around his own waist.

Dean took the hint and just managed to sling both of his arms around Castiel’s neck before the angel then practically lifted him off the table. For a few dizzying seconds Dean thought he was going to fall down, but then the air temporarily got knocked out of his lungs when Castiel spun him around and pressed him up against the motel wall with a thud that made the cheap artwork next to Dean’s head rattle.

Dean’s hands clawed across Castiel’s shoulder blades, fingernails driving deep into the firm muscles of his back, and Castiel let out a sound right next to Dean’s ear that Dean decided was the dirtiest noise he had ever heard in his life. It lit a fire inside him that up until that point Dean had thought was already aflame, but he had been wrong, oh, so wrong.

“Cas…” he breathed out the name against the angel’s neck. He could tell that Castiel could hear him because all at once the angel shook, as if a violent tremor had just caused every single one of his limbs to draw tight in spasms.

“Cas, please, I—” He didn’t get any further than that, because suddenly he couldn’t breathe anymore, for the millionth time that night. Suddenly he couldn’t see or think or hear _anything_ ; all of his senses permanently disabled by the sudden shift in Castiel’s stance and instead everything was fire and heat and _bliss_.

Dean tossed his head back, gasping Castiel’s name towards the ceiling with the little air he had left, hanging on as the angel tore his sanity to shreds from the inside out. He was still untouched, still hard between their bodies, but he couldn’t reach to touch himself, lest he plummet to the floor.

On a vague, irrelevant plane of existence he knew that he had begun to mouth obscenities and curses against the warmth of Castiel’s neck; words he couldn’t control that poured out of his mouth without sound, but somehow he knew that Castiel still managed to hear them all.

“Fuck, Cas, I can’t take it… Please, please, I ca— I _h_ _–_ _have_ to—-!”

And then it came; soft and marvelled, as if it was the first word to be spoken since the beginning of time. The feeling of it was warm against his skin, filled to the brim with awe and admiration and a yearning so violent it could have ripped his soul to pieces, had it not already healed it to its very core.

_“Dean…”_

For some reason that did it; the sound of his name, breathed out in that voice, and the world around Dean first went white and then pitch black, like the centre of an imploding star as he felt his muscles tighten so hard he thought that they were going to tear. He didn’t care, didn’t care about anything at all other than the feeling of his release as it burst forth between their still moving bodies and the sound of Castiel’s sudden gasp next to his ear, followed by a groan so husky and raw it sent Dean’s head spiralling even further into the euphoric void.

They ended up on the floor, somehow, after who knew how long. Castiel was still holding Dean tight against him and Dean was too exhausted to care about the mess he could feel trickling down his thigh because, fuck it, Cas could probably use his angel powers to clean it up later. He was still shaking, still feeling strangely cold in the afterglow, but it was all good because it was a cold he liked; like an electric spark living just beneath the very layers of his skin. Dean still had his hands clasped around Castiel’s neck and he could feel the thunder of the other’s heartbeat as their chests pressed together and suddenly he wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to let the other man go again.

He got pulled out of his daze when he felt a tangy, disturbingly familiar smell in the air and he reluctantly pulled away. His eyes fell down onto Castiel’s body and he felt his gut drop like a stone through murky waters of guilt.

Castiel was bleeding; marked by an uneven, jagged line of bloody little dots that trailed across his shoulder, just below the nape of the neck, and it didn’t take Dean long to realise that they were in fact perfect imprints of Dean’s own teeth. He threw a sideway glance at the angel, his stomach jolting when he found that Castiel was already looking back at him when he did.

“It’s okay, Dean.” Castiel said and, fuck, his voice was like every piece of sex that Dean had ever wished for in his life. “I don’t mind.”

Dean opened his mouth, but then he blinked, remembered the angel’s previous gasp and the groan that had followed soon after and he raised his eyebrows high, pointing at the wound while his lips pursed into an ‘o’ of surprise.

“It might have been a… triggering sensation, yes,” Castiel admitted, answering Dean’s unspoken question as if the human had said it out loud. If Dean wasn’t mistaken, he could have sworn that he heard something sounding awfully much like bashfulness in the angel’s voice too.

Dean let out a dazed chuckle. Wow. Just wow. He stretched his back, both feeling and hearing the vertebrae as they popped back into their proper place again, and grimaced a little. Man, if he felt like this, then he wondered how Castiel, who had done all the work, felt.

“There’s no need to worry about me, Dean.” Castiel said, and yeah, this time Dean was sure that the other was reading his mind. Normally he would have thrown a hissy fit about privacy and personal space, but seeing as they were both currently half and/or _completely_ naked and curled up on the floor together, he didn’t see the point.

He felt a sudden kick of panic against the inside of his ribs, thinking about what he had just done; what _they_ had done. Fucking autocorrect, he thought to himself. Who would have thought that gruesome invention would have been able to cause something like this?

Castiel narrowed his eyes at him, head tilting slightly to the left as he spoke.

“Surely, you don’t believe that this happened merely because of a faulty piece of electronic equipment?” The angel asked, for some reason sounding both calculated and amused at the same time.

Dean opened his mouth, then closed it, only to open it again just as fast.

He didn’t know how to respond to that. Once again his mind seemed to be split in half — one part screaming and the other cheering — and he looked down upon himself. He was a complete mess; with come all over his chest and dick, the smell of sweat and sex covering every inch of his body and he could only guess that he was currently also sporting a bed head that could make a pornstar cry.

All in all, he’d had worse and the thought instantly smothered the part of him that was still yelling at the top of its lungs, much to the cheering half’s relief.

After all, it wasn’t as if they had done something _bad_ . They had sex. They fucked. And it had been good. Really, _really_ good. Actually, it might even have been the best sex Dean Winchester had experienced in his whole life.

He looked at the clock hanging on the other side of the room. It was almost six o’clock in the morning and Dean slouched his shoulders. Sam would be back in less than seven hours.

From across the floor, Dean felt Castiel’s eyes narrow into another squint at his thought process.

“Why is the time of Sam’s arrival so important?” he asked, sounding confused, and Dean held back the urge to smirk as he continued on his train of thought, watching Castiel’s gaze go from suspicious to surprised, and then right back to impossibly dark in less than a split second as the angel caught hold of his intentions.

“Seven hours?” Castiel repeated, as if he was mulling the thought over, and Dean nodded slowly before throwing a suggestive glance at his cell phone, which was still lying on the floor by the door where he had dropped it. If he recalled correctly, Castiel’s last text message had promised him more than one ride on this roller coaster, and he wasn’t about to let such a promise slide; not when the first round had turned out to be as… exhilarating as it had.

He looked back at Castiel, who looked back at him.

“You’re sure about this?”

Dean rolled his eyes to the ceiling, thinking the thought that if Castiel wanted him to answer stupid questions, he’d have to do something about Dean’s lack of voice first.

Castiel snorted.

“I can hear you just fine, Dean. You’ve never been a discreet thinker.” He straightened up, the hands on Dean’s back slowly moving up to suggestively smooth across the muscles beneath his shoulder blades. “And forgive me, but I find the thought of you being speechless very… exhilarating.”

Dean huffed out a laugh, but he couldn’t conceal the shiver that went through him when Castiel’s voice dropped into a low growl at the last word.

 _So…_ he thought breathlessly, canting his head back when Castiel’s lips started trailing slow, deliberately stealthy kisses along his jugular.

_Bed or table?_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! ^^  
> Please feel free to leave a comment to help me improve my writing <3
> 
> Have a great day!


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